Seven Stages : Greg's Story
by tailkinker.au
Summary: Fifteen years before the first scene in CollarRedux: how did Greg House become a slave? Companion story to Oflymondreams Seven Stages, this is the same story from Greg's point of view. Contains mature themes - more warnings inside.
1. Debt Collection

_This is a companion piece to a story by Oflymondreams – Seven Stages. Together the two fics tell the story of How Greg Became A Slave in the CollarRedux universe. This story is told entirely from Greg's point of view._

_If you haven't read Oflymondreams Seven Stages story would advise reading that first and then this one, we will be posting chapters in turn.  
_

_The whole story came originally from a concept by Illumim and the third chapter in this story was mostly written by them. Illumim also provided a beta for the story fixing up all those annoying tense changes and typos and provided feedback and encouragement throughout the writing process. Many thanks to them and their evil ideas :)_

_Thanks as always to Oflymondreams, both for the basic plot of this story and the creation of the totally intriguing CollarRedux universe :)_

_Warnings – Strong themes of sexual abuse, enslavement, non-con, strong language, humiliation and de-humanization. Pretty much all around House/Greg abuse. If that's your sort of thing please read on :) First two chapters are fairly tame (and short!) but gets nastier and longer from there._

_If you enjoy the story would love to hear from you :)_

_

* * *

_

**Stage 1: Debt collection**

When House gets the final letter from the Slave Administration he stares at it for a long time. He's managed to ignore the demands from the banks and various debt collection agencies, hoping that maybe the whole mess might go away. There is no ignoring this letter though, it's official, he is to report to the Slave Administration Centre this morning and sign away his freedom. Nothing can stop it now, he's a slave all except for the collar around his neck. Well, at least he won't have to turn up at the damn hospital today and face his boss's disapproving stare.

Finally he takes out his cigarette lighter and sets fire to the letter, watching it burn with a crooked smile on his face. Fuck going there and turning himself in like a sheep. He is going to go on one last binge before they get him. He takes one last look around his dump of an apartment and then leaves, he doesn't think he'll ever see it again, good riddance. He'll miss the piano though, he guesses that slaves probably don't have pianos.

He doesn't make any real effort to hide, there is nowhere for him to escape to. Instead he goes on a tour of strip shows and bars, at each one getting progressively drunker and drunker until he can barely wobble from one to the other.

When they eventually catch up to him he is barely conscious and far beyond caring what is happening. They pick him up off a bar stool, do something with the stuff in his pockets and steer him out the bar.

He is chucked in a cage in the back of a van, he groans as the steel mesh digs into his side, eyes the steel rings welded into the cage blearily and then falls asleep.

When hands start pulling at his body he feels a wave of nausea and foul vomit comes out of him, spraying everywhere. The men attached to the hands seem angry and there are shouts and someone is prodding him and kicking him, he doesn't care, they are annoying him so he closes his eyes and sleeps.


	2. Notarization

**Stage 2 : Notarization**

He dreams of his Dad. He is pulling and poking him, moving him this way and that on some hard uncomfortable surface. As always his face is set in a scowl of disappointment at his wayward son. He drones on and on but Greg can't understand the words. He comes close and peers into Greg's eyes, capturing him with that steely military stare. Greg wants to look away but can't.

He holds Greg's wrists tight, and snaps something about them, then does the same with his ankles. Lastly he puts his hands around Greg's throat and squeezes tightly. When his hands are taken away the pressure remains. He can't move his hands, and can't move his feet.

He sobs and sobs and cries for mercy but Dad doesn't care.


	3. Admissions

_A/N – Illumim wrote most of this chapter, this is the chapter that sparked the whole story off. _

**Stage 3 : Admissions**

House's head hurts which isn't altogether surprising considering the binge he went on the previous night. He lifts his hand to shield his eyes from the bright light and is surprised when the other one comes up as well. His still intoxicated brain takes a moment to catch on before he realizes that his hands are cuffed together. He opens his eyes and realizes that his feet are also shackled and that he is sitting in a cage. He is wearing the same sweaty clothes he'd worn the day before and his tongue feels like it's stuck to the roof of his mouth.

His first thought is that he's been arrested and is at the police station, again, but when he lifts his cuffed hands to scratch his face he finds a collar around his neck. It's made of some type of heavy duty plastic, as are the cuffs on his ankles and wrists. The cuffs on his ankles and wrists are joined together by some steel chain.

He looks around and sees multiple cages in the small room, most are inhabited by a cuffed and collared person. Some are clothed, but some are sitting on the floor of their cages naked. A young woman is crying in the cage next to House's and someone a bit further away is banging the bars of his.

So, this is it, he is a slave now.

He is surprised by how little he cares. His head is pounding and all he is hoping for at this point is a greasy slice of pizza or at least some water. The two large guards who come to fetch him from his cage unfortunately don't have either. They open the door to the cage with what seems to be as much noise as they possibly can make and pull House out by his legs. They heave him to his feet and the one on House's right warns him in a disgusted tone.

"Don't you dare throw up, boy or you'll get to know the whip sooner than you think."

The other one just laughs.

"He'll get acquainted with it pretty soon anyway!"

House wants to protest, to complain but he's seen how they treated the guy in the other cage who made a fuss so he keeps his mouth shut and goes along quietly, one thing he doesn't want with this hangover is an electric shock - however mild.

House concentrates on trying to walk between the guards, difficult by itself with his ankles hobbled together. He hopes they wouldn't keep these chains on for long, he guesses they needed them initially in case people fought but surely they won't keep him shackled like this past the initial processing? None of the slaves he's seen about the hospital were chained, and most didn't have cuffs, just the collar.

The men take him to a room with shower heads on the wall, release the chain between his cuffs and tell him to strip. House stares at them for a moment half expecting them to leave the room and to give him some privacy, but they just keep standing there staring at him. Both guards are taller and heavier than House.

He slowly removes his sneakers and socks and then hesitates.

"Get on with it, boy, what are you waiting for?" The first guard is yelling much louder than House appreciates. He keeps calling him 'boy'. His Dad had always called him 'boy' - he'd hated that when he was a child and he hates this guy calling him that now.

"I think he needs some help." The other one comments and takes a step closer.

House decides he really doesn't want any help undressing and hastily removes his t-shirt and pants. He is now standing in his underpants in front of the two guards, hung over and thirsty, with cuffs around his wrists and ankles and a collar around his neck.

"The underwear as well, you know the drill." House isn't sure how he is supposed to know the drill, although he guesses he should have, given his new status as a slave. He's grown up in a society that keeps slaves, he knows they have no right to privacy and can be stripped at will. When he thinks of the cowed down slaves he's seen though he can't consider himself one of them. He is a doctor and he sure as hell isn't going to give that up. For now though he has to go along with what they are ordering him to do.

He removes the last piece of clothing and automatically puts his hands down to cover his genitals. The guards look at each other and half smile, like they've seen it all before. It annoys House that he is obviously acting like some stereotypical newbie. He's never felt so out of control in his life as he does in this place.

The guards grab his wrists and attach the cuffs quickly to hooks that are hanging from the ceiling. House is expecting a quick, probably cold shower, but the guards then spread his legs apart and bind them as well. House has had enough of this treatment, he is a human being, a doctor, he shouldn't be hung up like an animal about to be butchered. He opens his mouth to swear at them and protest his rights but ends up having a coughing fit as the first guard points a shower head directly to his face. The stream of water goes right in his half open mouth, completely silencing him, he gulps for breath as the cold water hits him.

The spray moves on and once he is wet completely with the frigid water the other man soaps him up from head to toe. To House's dismay he lingers in between House's wide spread legs, fingering his private parts with his gloved hands as if House was a breeding bull he was sizing up. Despite the cold water House feels his penis reacting to the handling and he desperately thinks of other things.

As the men wash him they chat to each other about, passing comments about him.

"This one's not much a ladies' man, with the size of his little willy, look how limp it is, he can't even get it up when I rub it." To demonstrate the guard rubs a hand up and down the length of House's cock. House tries to pull away but the bonds are firm and the guards just laugh.

"Don't think he'll be needing that much, I think this one will be more popular with the guys! His asshole looks pretty tight to me, they'll enjoy that."

House opens his mouth, ready to retort that he really doesn't want to know what size the guard's penis would be after a cold shower, and that no-one was getting up his ass thanks very much when one of the guards inserts a soapy finger into House's ass and wiggles it around. His incipient protest turns into more of a strangled yelp at the intrusion.

"Yep, I bet he's a regular bottom, aren't you boy? Going to enjoy stretching this hole out, it's made for fucking."

Once the soaping is finished, the first guard again rinses House with cold water, directing the stream at his mouth any time he sees House about to say something. House ends up coughing and struggling for breath, after that he keeps his mouth firmly shut, enduring this indignity in silence.

After he's been thoroughly cleaned he feels a lot more sober than he has since the night before, maybe for a long time. The guards take him down from the hooks and walk him out of the showers. He watches as they throw his clothes into an industrial sized canvas bag labeled "FOR INCINERATION" on the way out. House feels a pang of something, the clothes might have been sweaty and reeked of alcohol and vomit but they were his. Now he is walking, naked and shivering, between two large guards with hands and ankles shackled and already his freedom seems a distant memory, the clothes being thrown away are his last tie to it.

The guards walk to a larger room with multiple examinations tables, gripping his arms tightly the whole way. House wonders if they think he might try to escape, he wonders how he would accomplish that, with the shackles close to immobilizing him.

In this room there are people strapped to the tables, with guards around them. People dressed in rubber gloves and aprons over their Slaves' Administration uniforms are going in and out of the room, some delivering naked slaves, some taking them out.

House looks around curiously but doesn't have time to make any more detailed observations before they stop in front of an examination table with the number 15 printed on it.

House is hoisted onto the table by the guards and pushed down to a lying position. The table is a bit wider than a hospital issue one and has multiple straps and clips on the sides. There is no paper sheet or any cushioning to make the table more comfortable.

Before he can take in what is happening his arms are fastened above his head and his legs spread wide and shackled to the edges of the table. He is spreadeagled and unable to move, he can barely move lift his head up to see what is happening. He is helpless against anything they are going to do to his naked shivering body.

The first guard takes an electric safety razor from under the table and plugs it in. He starts with House's head and continues with his face. House expected this, the new slaves at the hospital were usually bald as well, mainly for sanitary reasons, no one wanted any lice or other contaminants getting into the slave quarters. He relaxes a bit, if all they are going to do is shave his head and face he can handle that. To his dismay though the guard moves on with the razor, shaving his armpits and then his chest hair as well. The immobility and the complete helplessness magnifies the indignity of what is happening to him.

The guard then shaves down to House's stomach, jumping over his genital area and continuing on with his legs. House is incredibly thankful that they have missed out his pubic area but his relief is short lived.

His legs are lifted high, his knees bent to his now hairless chest so that his ass is more accessible. He tries to struggle, but the guards are bigger than him and with his hands tied he doesn't have much leverage.

They pull him to the edge of the table and spread his legs even wider tying his knees apart completely exposing his cock and balls.

"Every fucking time, I tell you. They always try to resist this part." The guard using the razor sounds bored.

"This is for your own good, boy, wouldn't want you spreading any parasites." The other one tells House in a patronizing voice patting his side.

"Never know where they've been, this one looked like he'd been rolling in a gutter all night. I feel dirty after a shift even with all the rubber gear we have. I hate admissions duty."

House listens in numb disbelief as they go on to talk sports while the guard with the safety razor absentmindedly handles House's dick and balls, moving them this way and that, shaving all around until his groin is completely hairless. It is like House is just a piece of meat on the table.

The reality of the situation is slowly catching up with House. He is a slave now, has no rights and has to do what any moron tells him to. He can be sold without anyone asking for his opinion. At this moment, as he lies naked and exposed on a Slaves' Administration's examination table, he promises himself that he will never give up, will make sure that he'd be treated with respect, like the doctor that he is, even if he is wearing a collar.

He steadies his breathing, trying to detach himself from the situation. He wouldn't let this affect him. These guys are just shaving him down, just like the nurses do to the patients in the hospital, even if they are a bit more thorough than the nurses. It's probably a dull job, they like to spice it up with a bit of talk, maybe later on he'll find some way to get back at them, he is good at getting revenge.

He gasps as he feels something pushing against his asshole, cold and greasy. He tries to pull away but the guards only laugh as they slide the thing into him. The guard who'd had the razor comes up to his head and whispers in his ear.

"That's going in nice and easy. It's only a small one, just to get you started. You'll take much bigger than that soon. Have to get you nice and ready so everyone can use you. Boy as pretty as you, you'll be full all the time. I'll have a go myself when you're nice and trained up."

House stiffens and turns his head away. He screws up his eyes, trying to close out the sight of the room. They snap open again when he feels a belt being fastened around his waist, peering down his body he can see the dildo is attached to it. The guards unlock him from the table and fasten his wrist shackles to the belt. As he moves his hands the dildo moves inside him, poking at his prostate. He gasps again and feels his dick twitch as his prostate is stimulated.

"Oh yeah, you were made for this boy." The guard grins at him and prods him to get him moving. With each step House takes the dildo moves inside him, his previous resolve is shattered. He feels tears prickling at his eyes and gulps them away, he will not cry for these men, they want that.

When they reach the cage he is pushed inside and he hesitantly tries to sit without disturbing the thing inside him. One of the guards touches his nipple with a baton and a small shock rocks through him, he collapses onto the ground. As they walk off he crawls to the furthest corner of the cage and huddles him on himself. At that moment he is no longer Doctor Gregory House MD but a wretched, naked, chained and huddled slave. He is completely at the mercy of everyone there.

* * *

_Next chapter will be posted tomorrow after Oflymondreams post theirs. if you are enjoying it so far would love to hear from you :)_


	4. Processing

_This is Greg's point of view of the Processing stage posted by oflymonddreams, if you've missed that one best to read that one first and then this_

_Warnings : this chapter contains several instances of sexual abuse and non-consensual sex as well as general mistreatment and dehumanization of the slaves. The story just gets darker from here...  
_

* * *

**Stage 4: Processing**

By the time they come for him he has regained some of his composure. The worst is over now, he has been shaved, the guards have had a bit of fun with him. This is all just to shock the new slaves, keep them from being rowdy. From here he'll get some new clothes, nothing fancy, just the t-shirt and jeans that he sees slaves wearing. He expects they'll be some lessons in proper slave etiquette, do what you're told, keep your mouth shut, that sort of thing. He's never been very good at that but he can probably fake it long enough to get through. Hopefully it won't be too long before he's back at a hospital somewhere. He's still the same brilliant doctor he's always been, pretty sure the dying patients won't care that he's a slave when he cures them.

He ignores the worrying little voice at the back of his head that points out he's sitting naked in a wire cage with a dildo up his ass, chained at wrists and ankles and completely hairless.

The guards come for him, different guys this time but still big and burly, supposed to be intimidating he guesses. They laugh and point at him when they see the dildo harness. He's looked around the other cages and noticed that only one other slave was so adorned, he always seems to gets singled out for special treatment.

They haul him out of the cage and march him off, still wearing the harness. He tries to walk slowly and gingerly but they hurry him along.

"Don't worry boy, little dildo like that will be the least of your problems soon." One of the guards laughs at his efforts.

He's taken to a cavernous space, pretty much like a warehouse, along the walls are stacked a row of crates, each one quite long but with a low height. As he gets closer he can see inside them and is shocked to see a slave in some of them. Most of the slaves are lying down, there are a few who have just enough head height to sit. There is nothing in the crates but the slaves. No blankets, no pillows, and the slaves are naked except for their collars and cuffs. Dull eyes watch him from some of the crates but no-one says anything.

He stops moving and tries to shake off the guards. This is too much - he is not being put in a crate like so much cargo. He opens his mouth to yell but one of the guards is there with his baton, touching the tip to House's knee. He goes down in a heap, with a yelp instead of the outraged speech that he had intended. They quickly stuff him into the crate and slam the door shut. They walk off without a word.

There is only room in the crate to lie down, he can't even sit, his head would hit the top. His feet and head touch the ends of the crate as it is.

When he regains his breath he starts kicking on the walls and ceiling of his crate and yelling. He shouts protests at this treatment. He's a slave, he gets that, but he's not an animal, they can't keep treating him like this. The slaves at the hospital aren't treated like this, he is sure of that. They always seemed fairly happy, content. If this was how slaves got treated there would be official notice, protests to the paper, investigations. He's sure he would have heard about it. Not that he has ever talked to any slaves except to give them orders, but still, someone would know about it.

His angry outbursts aren't answered and don't even appear to be noticed. The inhabitants of this cavernous room go about their business quietly. He can see slaves being moved from one area to another, the whole thing being done in almost complete silence. There is no chatter between the slaves and their attendants. The slaves are all naked, and are all chained at ankles and wrists as they move about..

As he watches he sees a slave bound to a table, much like an examination table at the hospital. His legs are bent up into stirrups and the men with him are inserting a large dildo into him. One man rams it in and out while another man strokes the slave's erect cock. Yet another man stands by with a clipboard and makes notes.

He freezes in mid kick, horrified. Then he starts screaming at them.

* * *

He keeps up the noise for a long time. Hours. He yells and curses, and bangs the crate. Just for a change he starts singing at one point. A few heads in the other crates turn towards the sound but otherwise nothing changes. Finally, out of sheer exhaustion, he falls asleep.

He is awakened by his crate door being opened. He is pulled out, again by two burly men. He does his best to make it difficult for them by kicking and trying to hook his ankles around the edge of the crate but they have obviously done this many times before and they haul him up efficiently. One of the men removes the harness around his waist and quickly pulls out the dildo. He sighs in relief to see it go but remembers the slave he'd seen on the table before and wonders if it's his turn now. He badgers the men with questions but they not only don't answer it's like they don't even hear him.

He is marched over to a treadmill and his cuffs are fastened to the bars on either side. An attendant presses a button and the treadmill starts going. He stubbornly doesn't move his feet and he is yanked off balance by the movement of the belt, his arms being painfully jerked. The guards pick him back up and place him on his feet. His arms feel like they've been yanked out of their sockets and he's worried about his exposed genitals if he has a bad fall on the machine. What the hell, he could do with a little exercise anyway. He starts to walk and then run as the speed is increased.

He has always been an active man but his recent lifestyle of booze, cigarettes and drugs has left him a bit out of shape. He's exhausted by the time his session is finished and they have to haul him back to the crate like a sack of potatoes. This time he lies quietly in there.

They bring food around after a while. A little bowl is placed in each crate, no utensils to eat with. He looks at it, little dried pellets that look like dog food. He shakes his head. This is ridiculous. He knows the slaves at the hospital didn't eat dog food. There was a slave's canteen for fuck's sake. When he was an intern they used to joke about going there to eat when the lines at their own were long. They never actually went of course, and he realized it probably didn't serve five star restaurant quality food but it sure as hell didn't just have dog food. He is fairly sure of that.

He tries one of the little pellets because he's hungry. It's edible, just about, but has little flavor. He eats a few more and then decides he has had enough of that. He grins and studies the nearby crates. All of the little slave sheep are contentedly eating their dog food. Maybe he can start a food fight. He takes one of the pellets and flicks it with all his strength at the next crate over. It luckily flies through the holes in the mesh and goes into the crate. His neighbor looks up at him with wide eyes and then continues to eat his food, completely ignoring the pellet on the floor of his crate. House tries a few more but without any success. The sheep aren't interested in playing and the guards don't seem to care. He throws the pellets out of his cage one by one so they land on the floor nearby. Give someone a job to clean them up anyway.

When his crate is opened and he is taken out he grins, at least he's made a nuisance of himself, even if he's going to be punished it's better than being ignored.

He's taken to one of the many tables that litter the room and strapped down until he can't move an inch. A guy in a white coat appears. House sees the tube in his hand and clamps his mouth shut but they just pinch his nose until he is forced to gasp for air. They insert some sort of bit in his mouth that props his jaws apart and thread the tube down his throat and into his stomach. A bottle of liquid food is attached and he is force fed. The whole thing is done in silence. There are no threats, no explanations. When they finish, the tube is removed as he coughs and splutters. They unstrap him and return him to a crate, not _his_ crate but one nearby. The pellets aren't on the floor anymore.

The next time the dog food is put in his crate he eats it.

* * *

It's some time after the force feeding experience that he's hauled out of the crate again. Already exhausted from the exercise and then the trauma of the force feeding he makes little resistance this time.

Before he realizes what is happening he is on the table with the stirrups. His arms are locked to the side and the his ankles are locked in the stirrups. His throat is sore from the tube but he screams anyway, angry protests. He is a doctor for Christ's sake, not some porno actor. He is going to be treating sick people, not sleeping with them, he doesn't need to be stretched and measured and he sure as hell isn't...

He yelps abruptly as a gloved hand touches his limp dick and begins to stroke it. Another man is inserting a dildo into him and then fucking him with it. House curls his fists together and digs his nails into his palms, trying to create as much pain as he can. They notice and calmly tape his fingers together so he can't do that. All the while the two guys keep stimulating him, one pushing the dildo in and out and the other one stroking him. House resists, tries to think of the most horrible images he can but it's no good. His libido has always been strong. At his most erect they pull out some measuring equipment and measure his engorgement, making notes on their stupid little clipboards. The guy with the dildo slips it out and makes a note of the number printed on its side. They slip a tube and collection bottle over his dick and finger his balls and he comes with a strangled cry. With horror he sees them collect his semen and mark up the container. Surely they can't use it without his permission? Before today he would have been sure of that, now he is uncertain.

He rolls his head to one side and lets a tear slip free.

* * *

He is forcibly brought to orgasm again, and takes larger and larger dildos. Sometimes he wears a harness with a butt-plug. Other times he is spread open with a speculum and examined internally. He is also fitted with gags. Not for long, and apparently not to shut him up, but more a case of seeing what he can take. They are always making notes on their clipboards. Maybe, he thinks, there is a research paper in it - the correlation between the size of a slave's erect penis and the width his jaw can be forced open to without damage to the slave.

He fights them every way he can. The only thing that can stop his orgasm is pain. So he seeks out ways to create pain. Once the fingernail in palm trick is foiled he moves on to banging his head against the hard surface of the table. They fix that by securing his head with a wide band. Then he tries biting his lip bloody, they used a mouth-guard.

During all these struggles they've never said a word to him. At this point he'd welcome an order or something but there is nothing. They are calm and efficient. Firm but not rough. They do not respond to him at all, at first he thought it was like he was an animal, a pet, but then he realized that people respond to pets. No, he's a piece of furniture, a piece of equipment. Nothing more than the MRI machine at the hospital he used to work at. A piece of equipment to be kept in good order, but to be used however they need to use it.

He always struggles when they come for him. it's not that he likes being in the crate, he hates it. It's too small for him and he doesn't like being in confined spaces. Ever since he was a kid, and Dad...no, he doesn't want to think about that.

What they do to him is worse than the crate. He hates how it makes him feel. Like an object being handled. So he struggles as the four handlers restrain him, two women and two men. The men are stronger but the women treat him in just the same way, locking his ankles together with a chain, paying no attention to his cursing and yelling. They haul him away bodily and when he sees where they are going he falls silent for a moment.

The squat toilet reminds him of being in Japan when he was a teenager, his Mom had been horrified by the things but he'd taken to them well. But in Japan they didn't chain you to poles, lock your ankles into position and leash you so that you can't move your head. There weren't four people standing around waiting for you to do your business, and many others watching from crates around the walls.

He knows that if he doesn't produce anything they'll force it by giving him an enema. But he can't. He can't do this, he can't go on command, in front of an audience. He grins and starts to sing a crude song, trying to pretend he doesn't care. But he does care and his singing fades away and he pleads with them for once to act like decent human beings, and then it happens.

He goes, his body does what his mind can't and surrenders. Gives in to them and their demands. He falls silent as they all stare at what he had produced. They bring up a hose and hose him off like some sort of farm animal. They walk him silently back to his crate, unshackle him and stuff him inside.

He lies there for a minute, the fight taken out of him by the loss of his control, the knowledge that he's beginning to surrender, to become what they want. He takes a deep breath and steels himself for the battle. He begins to hammer on the walls of his crate and yell. He won't give in to them, he won't.

* * *

When he is taken out of his crate this time it feels different. He isn't taken to one of the tables in the middle of the room but to a darker corner. There is only one man with him and the man isn't wearing his uniform, although House recognizes him as one of the guards on duty here. There's a table here too and the man fastens him to it tightly, spreading the stirrups widely so that he is open and exposed to him.

When the man unzips his pants he realizes what is about to happen, he tugs at his bonds but they hold tight. He stares at the man as he spreads lube over his own penis, stroking it at the same time so it hardens in readiness.

He tries to stop this.

"Please... please don't."

The man stops and stares at him and for a second he thinks that maybe his plea has helped, that someone at last has listened to him. Then the man fumbles on a shelf underneath the table and comes up with a gag.

When the man presses against him he closes his eyes in despair. He's never become used to the dildos being pushed into him but at least there's something cold and impersonal about that. He can pretend it's just some medical equipment, or a even a sex toy he's brought himself. It's part of the training routine here, part of becoming a slave.

But this is another man calmly fucking him, he's taken him out of his crate and he's using him, for his own amusement and on his own time. House knows that this happens to slaves, when he was an intern he knew some of the other interns had great fun with the slaves although it never appealed to him. But they said those slaves enjoyed it, that they participated. They were willing. He isn't willing.

The man isn't paying any attention to him and his feeble struggles. He is just entering him, not roughly, but firmly. When he's in a little way he withdraws and then pushes in again, bit by bit he penetrates him until he can feel the mans balls pressed against him. The man pauses and then begins to fuck him. Hard and fast. It's difficult for him at first but then the man finds his rhythm. When he begins hitting his prostate he finds his own body responding, his own cock beginning to swell. His heart begins to beat faster and he feels his skin tingling with arousal.

No, he doesn't want this. He opens his eyes and stares at the man, silently pleading for him to stop. He can't make the man stop fucking him but he doesn't want to respond, he doesn't want an orgasm forced from his traitorous body. He doesn't want him to think he enjoys this.

The man bends further over him, pausing in his thrusting to bring up his hands and run them over his body, he pulls at House's nipples, teasing them into little nubs of hardness, sending a shock of arousal through House, he runs his hands over House's body, petting and stroking.. His hands are soft, gentle, the first gentle touch House has felt in this place. To his shame House finds himself leaning into the touches, his body craving the kindness, the sign that someone here recognizes him as a human being, not just a thing. He knows that the man doesn't care for him, that he is just trying to get the reaction he wants from House but he can't help it. Tears fill his eyes and the man reaches up and brushes them away, making quiet soothing noises.

The man begins to thrust into him again, his fingers playing with House's balls, fingering the skin behind them. House feels himself harden under the man's attentions, his body comes up to meet the man's touches, seeking this closeness. The man grins in triumph and pumps faster and faster and then comes deep inside of House, emptying every last drop into him.

A few more quick strokes of those hands and he is coming too, his seed spilling over the man's hand. He is shaking and trembling in the aftermath, struggling to get enough breath through the gag. The man gets a cloth and cleans them both off, zipping himself back up.

Only then does he reach up and remove the gag from House's mouth. House moans as it comes out and the man places a finger across his mouth, quieting him. He brushes the last of House's tears away.

The man releases his cuffs from the table, stepping back to allow him to stand.

His knees buckle as he goes to stand and the man supports him. He looks around quickly, and then whispers in House's ear. The first words anyone has said to him in this room.

"You liked that didn't you boy. I did too. Next time I'll bring a friend."

And he does.

* * *

There's no night and day here, the lights are never switched off and there's no noticeable change of shift of the guards and other personnel. There isn't even really a routine, one time food might be followed by exercise, another time there is exercise and then he's put on the toilet and then taken to one of the tables.

At irregular intervals he is taken out and used.

The time he spends in his crate is both a relief and also sheer boredom for him. He is too tall to sit so all he can do is lie down, sometime he curls himself up, trying to shut out this new world, trying to set aside the mental image of a dog curled up in a pet shop cage. The food is always the same, the drink is always water in the same size little bottle. None of the slaves talk, none of the workers here talk.

He tries to continue his routine of screaming and cursing and banging on the walls of the crate but as time passes it becomes more and more of an effort.

He notices that although he is never returned to the same crate from which he's taken it's always one in the same area. Other slaves move along the wall a bit, towards the door. Then sometimes the ones nearest the door are put on a leash and walked out one day and he never sees them again. He thinks they must have 'graduated' out of this section. Or maybe they've failed and are being fed to the sharks - at this stage he isn't sure of anything. But he notices that none of the ones that go out the door create any trouble, they are quiet and compliant, not yelling troublemakers like him and a couple of the others. So he's putting money on them 'graduating'.

He knows that if he is a good little compliant slave, if he stops trying to resist, they'll move him up the ranks and he'll be out that door. By this stage he really wants to go out that door. He knows that he'll never be quite the same person again but he still clings to the idea that he'll be bought by a hospital and be able to work as a doctor again. He'll won't even mind eating the dog food that much, he's used to it now. He just wants to get out of this crate and away from these people who do these things to him and who never talk to him.

He can't quite make himself comply though. Can't shut off that part of him that rebels and always has, his whole life, away from order and discipline and towards chaos. So he continues to bang and scream and kick and resist. He can't help it. It's him.

* * *

They take him out as usual and strap him to the table while he curses them in broken little breaths. He doesn't think most of his words make sense any more, they are more noises than words but he can't stop making them, he can't surrender to this.

He expects them to put his feet in the stirrups in preparation for the use of their instruments on him, instead his ankles are shackled to the side of the table, his head held down until he cannot move. He tenses in fear, this is something new.

They place something in his ears and then tape pads over them. He can't hear. There is only the sound of his own blood pounding through him as his heart rate accelerates. He tries to shake his head from side to side but it is held down. He watches as one of the staff members points to his hand and then another one trims his fingernails down to the quick.

When they release him they help him to his feet and he realizes he has fallen silent. He looks around the room, trying to orientate himself without the benefit of sound.

When they take him to the exercise machine they set it on a high pace and he begins to run. It is strange without the sound of the machine and his own footsteps but he runs, trying to flee this place, this nightmare. He runs until he is exhausted and doesn't resist as they take him back to his crate.

Once safely in the crate he paws at the pads on his ears but cannot remove them, in frustration he kicks at the sides of the crate, feeble, futile blows.

The next time they take him out of his crate they blind him.

Now he really is helpless, he can't see and he can't hear. He's cocooned in his own little world and he's terrified. He can't see them coming for him, can't recognize the ones he'd started to recognize, can't see what the other slaves are doing. There is nothing to process, nothing to analyze He can live only in the moment, totally dependent on them.

They take him out of his crate to feed him, sitting him on the floor somewhere. He is confused until they tap him gently on the jaw. He opens his mouth and they spoon the pellets into his mouth. When he's finished that mouthful they give him another. They hold his cup of water to his mouth and he sips it. When he's finished they put him back into his crate.

When they take him out now they are careful with him, they guide him around the room he cannot see. They are gentle with him when they fuck him and when they stretch him. They even let him take his time on the squat toilet.

Finally something breaks inside and he lets go. He stops resisting. He is blind and deaf, he can do nothing to stop them so he doesn't. When they use him he moves to meet their hands, longing for the touch when he has nothing else.

They give him his sight and hearing back one at a time at intervals. He resumes his struggles when he has his senses back but it is feeble, the last dying embers of resistance.

Finally they give him both of his senses back and he is quiet. They take him through the circuit of exercise, toilet and the table, they take him to be groomed and he lies passively as he is shaved down. Some of the staff use him and he doesn't protest as they take their turns. Then they put him in his crate for a long period of time. He doesn't make a sound, he doesn't kick the walls.

When they take him out of his crate and walk him to the door they no longer need guards to hold both arms.

He walks well on his leash.

* * *

_TBC shortly in Education, first from the Centre workers point of view by oflymonndreams and then from Greg's in this story_


	5. Education

**Stage 5 : Education**

The rules are simple here. Slaves don't talk unless they are asked a direct question, slaves don't talk to other slaves at all, slaves do everything they are told to do, instantly and without question. A slave is to have no desire but to please his masters.

House can follow most of the rules. It's been a long time since he talked to anyone who listened anyway and his stay in the crate has cured him of his screaming and cursing. He learns to do as he is told, it's the easiest and simplest route through this process. He doesn't desire to please his masters, but he does desire the small treats that will follow from convincingly faking it so he strives for that instead.

He doesn't earn any treats but he does fairly well until the smoking incident.

The first time he doesn't think much of it. He's just finished his routine in the exercise block and is being led back to the dorm. He is leashed and has his hands cuffed together in front of him. He's not allowed to hold his hands in a natural position down low as that would cover his cock and balls and that's not allowed. He'd learned that lesson by having his hands cuffed behind him all day, being placed in a cage and having every passing staff member fondle his genitals. Now he holds his hands up against his waist where they belong.

The staff member walks him outside and props himself against a corner of the building to have a smoke. House is surprised, he hasn't seen anyone smoking here before, let alone in front of a slave. But he's well versed in the art of sneaking off work to have a clandestine cigarette and he's not allowed to talk so he just stands there while the man smokes.

A couple of days later the man is escorting him again and does the same thing. This time House allows himself to want the cigarette. He used to smoke a pack a day and has gone cold turkey. All he's had for weeks has been dog food and water and he twitches at the thought of a cigarette, maybe the man will offer him a puff. He doesn't and they go back inside.

The next time the guy has House's favorite brand of cigarettes. House wars with himself but decides that the man can't do much to him, he'd have to admit deserting his duty to smoke. So he plucks up his courage and stammers out a request for a cigarette. He even has a lame joke with the guy about 'dying for a cigarette'.

The man has him gagged and on his knees before he knows it. He obeyed the command to open his mouth in reflex even though he hates being gagged. When he realizes that the gag is a special kind that allows the insertion of a cigarette he knows he's been tricked, trapped into disobeying one of the rules. The slave shall have no desires other than pleasing his master.

He's on his hand and knees being forced to puff the cigarette. He can't even enjoy it, he's so terrified of what is going to happen. He's sure he's going to be sent back to the place with the crates - processing they call it, he's been threatened with that before.

The guy makes him wait while he finishes his own cigarette and then takes him back inside, House has to crawl on hands and knees, all the while smoking the cigarette. He hasn't had one in weeks and this isn't exactly how he likes to have them, every breath he takes is cigarette smoke and he coughs and chokes on it.

He's led into a busy hallway, it appears to be some sort of administration office, there are uniformed workers everywhere. There's a cage waiting and people standing by to fit him into it, further evidence this was a trap. He's bundled into the tall upright cage, stood up in place with some sort of framework around him. A medical officer appears to catheterize him, House watches in horror as the tube is slipped up his penis. He barely notices the butt plug going in although it's a large one. All through this he involuntarily puffs away on his cigarette.

Things are fitted around his body and he is held upright and immobile, his head up and staring straight ahead, he can barely twitch. He watches as smoking guy places two fresh unopened packets of cigarettes next to the cage. He realizes what is going to happen and stares at the guy in horror. Smoking guy explains anyway, he'll be made to smoke two packets of cigarettes and then sent back to processing.

The guy explains it's not punishment, it's 'education'. House realizes that it's futile to protest and the guy won't understand any noise he makes anyway so he tells smoking guy to fuck off.

Smoking guy decides it's an apology and House can't enlighten him.

The cigarette smoke makes him feel very sick. This forced inhalation isn't really like normal smoking. There is very little respite, there's usually only a few minutes between one cigarette burning out and another being lit and put in the gag. A different person puts in the cigarette each time and they all ask him if he is enjoying his smoke. After the eighth cigarette he starts pleading with them through the gag but they cannot understand him and he knows this won't stop until all the cigarettes are gone. After the fifteenth cigarette he starts crying. By the time the second pack is opened he has lost count.

He is force-fed four times. At first he is relieved when the gag is removed and he can gulp in fresh air but before he has more than a few lungfuls a tube is inserted down is throat and the liquid food pumped down. He is given a quick drink of water and then re-gagged, still coughing from the tube removal.

Even worse than the nicotine sickness is being on display. He's facing a doorway which sees a lot of traffic and everyone who comes in get an eyeful of him, he's naked of course, tube on his dick, butt plug in his ass and gag on his face. His legs are spread slightly apart so there's a good show. The cage is open in the front, he's not going anywhere, he's shackled in place. Anyone who passes can come and fondle him and a lot do. He doesn't know if its part of their job description or they're just sick fuckers. Maybe both. There's some disposable gloves by the cage for the squeamish and they slip them on and run their hands up and down him, pulling at his balls, feeling between his legs and flicking the end of the butt plug. They pull at his nipples and earlobes, one guy seems to have a fetish for his feet. He mutters and swears at them behind the gag but all that comes out are animal like grunts.

A couple of times staff come and remove the butt plug and give him an enema. They do it where he is and it seems to be break-time entertainment for the other staff, a crowd gathers to watch. The tube goes up his anus and the water is pumped up there. A bucket is positioned underneath him for the clean-out. House closes his eyes against their staring faces but his face is tapped by a staff member and he gets the idea quickly - eyes open.

By the time the last cigarette is put in his gag he is stick to his stomach, his headache is blinding, his mouth feels like cotton wool. His eyes are dry and irritated and his body is sore from being stroked and pulled. He is beyond exhaustion, sleep has been almost impossible as he is awoken by the constant insertion of cigarettes into the gag. He is twitchy and his body is shaking and shivering. He has no more tears left.

The last cigarette burns out and he is let down, the gag removed. He collapses onto the waiting trolley and they shackle his wrist and ankle cuffs together and wheel him down to processing. He knows he is going to be in hell from nicotine withdrawal for the next few days but is too sick to care. He passes out before he even reaches processing.

He wakes up in a crate. He assumes he is in processing but can't be sure. He's got pads over his eyes and ears. He's blind and deaf. He feels sicker than he has ever felt in his life. His head is pounding unmercifully, his throat is incredibly sore and his gut is cramping and waves of nausea come over him. He rolls over to one side and vomits, there is little in his stomach but some sort of fluid comes out and covers the floor of his crate. The smell sickens him further but there is nothing left to bring up.

He knows that this will get worse before it gets better and there is nothing to distract him from his sickness, he is cocooned in his own world, unable to hear or see anything around him. He has a coughing fit that continues for a long time until his chest is on fire and his body is shaking uncontrollably.

Some time later he begins to call out for help but if anyone hears he doesn't know, no-one comes.

He doesn't know how long he spends in the crate this time, it seems like an eternity but when they give him sight and hearing back and lead him to the door on a leash he cries grateful tears.

The first day back smoking guy takes him from the exercise block and walks him outside on a leash. Then he leans back against the building and lights up his cigarette.

House can't help it, he's instantly and violently sick all over himself and the ground, the morning's ration of dog food spewing out of him. He falls to his knees, trembling in fear. Smoking guy just looks down at him and takes his time finishing his cigarette. Then he stubs it out on the ground and pats House on his bald head.

"Good boy."

House doesn't want a cigarette any more.

* * *

House hates the outdoor training. He hates all the training, but there is something about kneeling outside in the rain and the cold that reminds him of long nights spent locked outside the house after his Dad had banished him to the garden. Then, he'd huddled around himself and cried quietly in the night. Now he can't huddle and he can't cry. He must just endure.

He kneels naked on the ground in the proper position, knees apart, hands behind his back, and eyes down. It hadn't taken long for him to learn the correct posture. On his first day here he'd been placed in it and told to maintain it until told otherwise. Every time he'd broken posture he'd been placed back into it. Only when he'd maintained it unbroken for a sufficient length of time was he released and given food and allowed to rest.

Now he adopts the position easily. He must remain alert for the instructor's passing. When one pauses in front of him he quickly leans forward, kisses her feet and then regains his position. The strap falls across his shoulders with a light slap, it is not the slight pain that he regrets, but the red mark on his shoulders that will stop him from having any real food to go with his dog food again. He hasn't managed to gain that reward yet. He hates himself for wanting it, but the slaves with the real food always eat it in front of them and he desperately wants just a taste.

After they are released from the morning training and given a quick shower so they do not chill he is leashed by an instructor and led off. He trots obediently behind her and is taken to a door he hasn't seen before. The instructor unclips him, opens the door and pushes him inside.

He is surprised to feel plush carpet under his feet and a warm blast of air. Every other room he has been in has had cold concrete or tile floors and none have been heated. He remembers just in time that he must kneel in the presence of a free person unless instructed otherwise and sinks to his knees, automatically adopting the correct posture in front of the desk. He does not speak, slaves are never to talk unless spoken to.

There is a lady working at the desk and after a time she calls out 'boy'. That's his signal to raise his head and he does so.

Then she asks his name.

His mind races, he thinks he knows what is happening. This plush office is a sales office, she is here to assess his skills and find him a suitable position, soon he will be out of here.

He quickly tells her his name and title, and that he has two board specialties, surely that will make him more marketable. He hates the little stammer in his voice but excuses it as he so rarely talks.

Before he is finished she taps a bell on her desk and he falls silent. She looks very disappointed and he swallows hard, he's made a mistake, he starts to tremble.

His escort enters and the lady behind the desk says he is to go back to processing. Before he can draw breath the escort has his wrists over his head and has clipped the cuffs together, likewise his ankles are cuffed and immobile he is kicked over to land on his side. He lays helpless on the nice carpet.

He lies there stunned as the escort goes out of the room. He wants to scream in protest that she asked him his name, it wasn't fair. He hears a trolley coming, he'll be loaded on it and wheeled back to the hell of processing. He can't go there again. He doesn't want to be blinded and deafened, the next time they do that they might not give it back. He doesn't have much here but he doesn't want to lose it.

He stutters and gulps and tells her how sorry he is, he feels like the pathetic mess he is but can't stop himself, he doesn't want to go back to processing, not again. Not after last time. He shifts uneasily on the carpet as she considers his situation. When the trolley is wheeled in the escort sounds almost hopeful when she asks if he is to go to processing. House holds still waiting for the lady's verdict.

When she asks him his name he says that it can be whatever she wants.

That's the right answer.

* * *

He is herded back to the dorm with a bunch of other slaves. They all walk at the slow deliberate pace they have been taught. He doesn't look at or talk to the other slaves and they don't look at him. That's a rule. He's been with them on and off for weeks but has no idea who they are. They file into the room and take empty bunks as they come to them. They have no set bunk, that would be saying that it belonged to them and slaves don't own things. He lies down on his bunk and closes his eyes. The light never goes off of course, it's been weeks since he's been in the dark but he's used to it.

He awakens to a child calling out in pain. Briefly he wonders why there is a child in their room, he knows there are children who are slaves but has never seen any here. The child is calling for help but no-one is coming. House doesn't know where the staff sleeps but it's not here. He hears other slaves waking up but the child is still calling out, she sounds like she is in great pain.

His instincts as a doctor kick in, he gets up and goes over to her. A small voice inside him says he's breaking a rule - no slave is to get off his bunk until the door opens and they are ordered to rise - but the child is sick and he's a doctor.

He asks her the location of the pain and when she indicates the right lower abdomen he suspects appendicitis immediately. He doesn't want to cause her more pain but a rebound test will confirm one way or the other what he suspects. He places his hand over the appendix and presses down lightly, there is some pain there but when he takes his hand away she screams in agony. Definitely appendicitis, and spread to the peritoneum for the rebound test to have such a strong result. The appendix must be about to rupture, she needs surgery immediately or she will die. He doesn't think about it, he just goes straight to the locked door and yells for help, just like he would in his old hospital. He knows what to do, he can save this child's life, he can be a doctor again. He wonders if they might even let him scrub in, if they don't have anyone else on hand.

The door opens, causing him to stumble and people rush into the dorm and take him down, he's still telling them what's wrong with the child when they push him to the floor. He's rolled onto his stomach and his cuffs are locked together behind his back, his ankles are also shackled together and he's pressed into the floor. He's still yelling so they tap his jaw and he opens his mouth by reflex and they gag him. He hopes desperately that they are going to believe him and get the child straight into surgery.

They have a trolley and he is dumped on that and wheeled quickly out the door. He can't see what's happening to the child but notices that the slaves they pass are all still lying in their bunks, hands by their sides and staring at the ceiling.

He expects to go straight to processing, it was obviously another trap. The trolley is wheeled to a stop outside an office door and he is left there for some time. He lies on his stomach, bound and gagged, he doesn't twitch a muscle.

Eventually the the door opens. An older man dressed in a suit and tie looks down at him.

"Take the gag out." He orders the attendants and they roll him over and comply.

"Why did you leave your bunk slave?"

House stares up at him. He doesn't know who this guy is but he looks important, he's not sure what to answer but goes for the truth.

"She was calling out in pain, sir. I'm a doctor, I just wanted to see what was wrong with her, sir. She needs surgery, I can help, I've done it before..."

"And why did you make a commotion?"

"She would have died sir, she needed medical attention or she would have died. I wanted to save her life, sir. Did they take her into surgery? It needs to be done straight away, before the appendix ruptures, the infection is already at the peritoneum, the rebound test was positive..."

"Be quiet." The man speaks quietly but firmly and he falls silent.

"Firstly, you are not a doctor, you are a slave. You have been here for weeks, you should know that by now. Second, this was a test of your obedience. You failed. "

"But...but, I saved the girl's life!"

"No, you didn't. That girl is dead."

He stares at the man with wide eyes. He feels fat tears roll down his cheeks and then he is sobbing uncontrollably, all the grief and loss of the last few weeks being wrung out of him.

The man gestures to the handlers.

"Take him to processing."

He's wheeled down to processing, taken off the trolley, his hands and ankles are released and he's dumped in a crate. They don't deafen and blind him this time but it doesn't really matter. He's numb to everything anyway. He pulls his knees up to his chest and hugs them. He's still crying and he feels empty inside in a way he hasn't since he came here.

He was a doctor once. Now he can't even save a child's life. He doesn't know what he is any more.

By the time he cries himself to sleep he knows.

He is a slave.

* * *

_Final two chapters tomorrow, first from the Centre workers point of view by oflymonndreams and then from Greg's in this story. If you are enjoying the story we'd love to hear from you :)  
_


	6. Purchase

**Stage 6 : Purchase**

He doesn't know how long he's in the crate in processing. There's a couple of bowls of dog food and he's taken out twice for staff members to use him. Once when he is being used another man is taking pictures of it and they pose him this way and that for the camera. He doesn't know what the photos are for and doesn't much care.

Then he is taken out of his crate and leashed and walked down the hall back towards where he first came into the Centre. Maybe he is to start right from the beginning again? He's taken into the room with all the tables where the slaves are shorn. When his handler stops by a table he goes to his knees and places his hands behind his back, eyes down and knees spread.

There are a couple of guys there, he recognizes them. They were the ones who first handled him in this room, they showered him and shaved him and one of them was the first to stick a dildo up his ass. Maybe they want a chance to fuck him, see how he's come on.

The escort who brought him over is telling the guys that he is to work here for a while, if he gives any trouble or talks he is to go back to processing. The words wash over him and he doesn't react. He won't give any trouble and he won't talk, he already knows that.

Then they say he is to be groomed for sale. His heart skips a beat. He wants to be sold. He desperately wants to get out of here, he doesn't even really care where he's sold to at the moment. He realizes, now, that his fantasy of going to a hospital and being a doctor again was laughable but anywhere would be better than here. He's seen slaves out in the real world and they're not like this.

He becomes the best slave he can be. He helps the two guys in their work. They don't talk to him of course, except to give him orders and he can't talk to them but he finds out that their names are Ben and Ted.

He handles some of the new slaves. He's still naked of course and some of the new ones stare at him with big round eyes and quivering chins. He wonders what they see when they look at him. One or two of them try to talk to him while Ben or Ted are showering them and he directs the stream of water in their faces. He has nothing to tell them anyway, they'll find out soon enough. He's always glad when the last of them clear the room for the day, Ben or Ted shaves him down and then puts him back in his cage. He lies curled up in a ball and wakes when new slaves are dumped in cages during the night.

He has his dog food for lunch of course. There's a little break room where Ben and Ted go and sit at the table. He kneels on the floor by their feet and eats from his bowl. One day Ben holds out half a sandwich to him.

He stares at it, making no move to take it. He knows it can be a trap, and he doesn't want to go back to processing.

Ben grins at him and taps his jaw, the signal to open up. Ben tears the piece in half and puts it his mouth. He slowly chews it, its the first thing he's had other than the dog food since he's been here. There's white bread, some sort of meat and pickle. It's the best thing he's ever tasted, he feels a prickle of tears in his eyes. Ben reaches down to him and pats his head and tells him he's a good boy. He looks up at them, these men who started him down this path, the last people to see him when he was a still a person. They don't remember him of course, he's just one slave amongst many. Ted mentions the addictions cage and he shudders from head to foot.

That night, before they put him in his cage, they take turns fucking him, long and slow while he is strapped to a table. They bring him to orgasm, Ted stroking him and pulling on his balls.

It seems to have been a farewell gesture as in the morning a different person comes for him and he is walked out the door on his leash.

* * *

His escort is a young woman, she takes him on his leash to a new section of the building he hasn't seen before. They stop at a small cell like room. There are bars on the front so people can see in. There's a bed with a waterproof covering, no blanket or pillows. There's a tiny shower cubicle. On the bed is folded a pair of jeans and a white t-shirt. She tells him he is to wear the clothes. Then she demonstrates the use of the shower, which has a small attachment for internal cleaning. He's to keep himself clean, inside and out. They'll be inspecting him daily. He has to look his best at all times for any prospective buyers.

She leaves and locks the cell door behind her. When she is out of sight he gets off his knees and moves to the clothes.

He had thought it might be another trap but she gave him a direct order to wear the clothes. He pulls the jeans on first, there's no underwear but for the first time in weeks his cock and balls are covered up. His feet are bare but that doesn't matter. The t-shirt goes over his head and then he smooths it down.

Neither item of clothing is new, and neither fits properly. They feel strange and uncomfortable against his skin, after so long without clothing.

There's a small mirror over the bed, probably so that he can keep himself looking clean and tidy. He stares at it and looks at the slave who stares back.

His eyes are clear, his skin healthy, his teeth have been cleaned and he's smooth shaven. He looks the best he has in years, his body is trim and muscular. He feels physically fit due to the forced exercise. But there's a collar around his neck and cuffs on his ankles and wrists and he doesn't recognize the slave in the mirror. He turns away, he doesn't want to see that.

He kneels on the floor and waits.

* * *

He's led to an office door, and escorted inside. His escort unclips his leash and gives him a quiet command to 'drop'. He kneels down in the correct position before the desk. There is a lady behind the desk and another lady sitting in a comfortable chair next to him.

"Boy."

He looks up obediently at the lady behind the desk.

"Strip so that Doctor Cuddy can inspect you."

He almost jerks his head to look at the other person in the room. He knows the name, he knew her briefly in college. That is of less importance than that she is a doctor. If she is to inspect him then maybe she is thinking of buying him. Maybe she works for a hospital and he will be sold to them. Probably not as a doctor, but even if he is a janitor at least he will be in a hospital and maybe they will let him have some input into difficult cases. He is terrified of doing anything that will stop Doctor Cuddy buying him. He quickly rises and strips, folding his clothes neatly and placing them on a pile on the floor, then kneeling again, facing Doctor Cuddy and spreading his legs a little wider so that she can see all of him.

"Yes, he looks very fit." Doctor Cuddy murmurs, she doesn't touch him but he can feel her eyes on him.

"If you would like to test his sexual responsiveness..."

"No, no, that won't be necessary. I've seen enough."

The lady behind the desk rings a bell to summon his escort.

"Put your clothes back on boy."

He quickly gets dressed again, his heart sinking. Doctor Cuddy hasn't even touched him, maybe she wasn't interested.

His escort comes in and leashes him. He kneels in the hallway outside the door and his leash is clipped to a tethering ring in the wall behind him. He's left alone and he waits there for some time.

When the women emerge the Centre Worker takes his leash and gives him the command to get up. The women walk through the hallways and he follows at their heels, making sure to keep the right distance.

The room they go to is the collaring room. He's been here before, since he's been in his cell he's been brought here a couple of times and gone through the motions of putting his neck down in the collaring machine. It looks a little like a guillotine and he thinks they wanted to be sure he wouldn't panic when faced with it, as he was unconscious when his plastic collar was put on. Maybe this time it's for real.

He kneels down quietly in a corner of the room while the women discuss collars. He begins to get the impression that Doctor Cuddy has indeed bought him. He doesn't know whether it's for a hospital or for her own use.

Doctor Cuddy doesn't seem that interested in the different types of collars available and selects a plain black metal collar with 4 D-rings where he can be leashed. He's relieved she hasn't gone for one of the studded options or the high posture collars which would keep his head held high. He is summoned over to the machine and lays his head down quickly when ordered.

The machine comes around his neck and he feels the collar going on. It's cool and hard against his skin, the final mark of his ownership. It's not too tight but there's a pressure there against his throat that he knows he will never be able to forget.

There are no cuffs placed on his ankles and wrists, he's not sure why but he's grateful. The old plastic ones are cut off and he now stands before his new owner. He's not sure what to do but she clips the leash in her hand to his new collar and tugs on it.

"Come on, Greg. Time to go."

He follows obediently at her heels, his head down. He feels a warmth inside at hearing his name. Greg, Doctor Cuddy has decided to call him Greg. It's been weeks since he's been Greg. Maybe, one day, he can be House again.

There's no farewell ceremony, no final words. Doctor Cuddy just walks out the front door and he follows on his leash. They stop by a small van and there are two uniformed security guards. The badges on their uniforms say PPTH. He casts around in his memory and comes up with the name Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. A small hospital in New Jersey he thinks.

The guards place shackles around his wrists and ankles and hustle him into a cage in the back of the van. One stays in the back with him and the other goes around to the driver's seat. Doctor Cuddy gets in the front passenger seat without looking back at him.

There's a small window in the back of the van and as they drive off he looks back at the Centre

Doctor Gregory House, M.D, with two board specialties went in there. Greg, the slave, came out.


	7. Acceptance

**Stage 7 : Acceptance **

Doctor Cuddy has been very good to him, he's glad she bought him.

His jeans and t-shirt are new and clean, he has a pair of shoes that fit. He's had a meal already this morning, and a shower. The groomer keeps his face clean shaven but doesn't shave his body any more, hair is starting to bristle all over it.

He has a bunk in the back of the office with a sheet, blanket and pillow.

He can go to the bathroom any time he wants and take as long as he likes.

When he sees other people he can talk to them, as long as they talk to him first. Most of the times they don't want to talk to him, they'd rather do other things so he tries to stay out of their way.

He has a position in the hospital. He went over the diagnostics budget with Doctor Cuddy and he's right there - listed along with the other Department assets, he's amazed at how much he cost.

He's getting his medical license back and will be allowed to see patients in the clinic and soon he'll have a doctor or two working for him and then he can do what he does best, diagnose difficult cases. And some of the time he can hide his collar under a roll-top so that people won't _know_, when they see him, what he is.

When he goes to bed at night he curls up on himself. He doesn't turn off the light because he can't sleep in the dark.

Sometimes,when he wakes up in the morning his pillow is wet with tears. He turns the pillow over so no-one will ever know.

The End

* * *

_If you've made it this far thanks very much for reading, I hope you enjoyed the story. If you haven't already please check out the Collar!Redux series by Oflymonddreams that takes up 15 years after this story ends. Thanks to Oflymonddreams for writing the Seven Stages story and encouraging me to write Greg's point of view of the story :) _


End file.
